


He Wrote it on a Shotgun

by Aurelious_auria



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alien Romance, Aliens, Cabal, Destiny, Eventual Romance, Leviathan raid, Other, Slow Burn, Smut is likely, The Last City, come and kinkshame me yourselves you cowards, i still don't know how to tag things, raid, so more will be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-04-17 16:26:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14192997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurelious_auria/pseuds/Aurelious_auria
Summary: The all-powerful god-king of the Cabal might have the hots for you, but is that really such a bad thing? This position definitely has its benefits, and maybe you don't mind being admired by him afterall...





	1. The Post-Raid

**Author's Note:**

> You're a human, Titan, and a Guardian. That's it though, really! You decide the rest. The exo friend is based off of my Hunter character (because I couldn't resist), but remains unnamed for now. This is more of an introductory bit, but hopefully it's a fun kick-off to a grand and bizarre adventure !

 

“Well this is certainly unexpected.”

Your line of sight shifts from its previous focus to follow the sound of a voice, and lands on the familiar shape of an exo nearby. She’s holding a set of armor in her hands; a beautifully crafted suit trimmed with golden metal and ornate designs, complimented by gleaming white materials. However, she’s not staring at this, but rather the inscription her Ghost is projecting above it; a message left by its former owner, hidden inside its make. Written in Earthen language, the paragraph reads about accepting powers beyond the Light, and as its current owner recites it...

 

“‘...When the time comes, seek me out. I will teach you to grow fat from strength?’ Unbelievable. We took down the bastard inside his own throne room, and then he offers us a place among his Loyalists. Is he even Cabal?”

 

She wonders out loud after relaying the message, and looks to you in bewilderment. In place of offering an opinion, you cast your gaze back down to your own set of armor, and frown, deep in thought. After summoning your own Ghost to take a closer look at the pieces, you personally confirm the existence of a similar invitation phrased within its workings, alongside compliments regarding your strength in battle. It’s enough to make a counter-argument with.

 

“I don’t know. He seems pretty Cabal to me; what with admiring an opponent’s ability to fight well. I think if most of these Cabal that we’ve killed had the opportunity to encounter us again after getting their heads blown off, they’d shake our hands.” You muse openly, looking up from your boon to meet the Hunter’s optics, a smile on your face. “They’re gentlemen like that.”

 

A humored snort sounds from your teammate’s vocalizer at your evaluation, and she takes the opportunity to poke fun. “You’d know better than any of us, wouldn’t you? Spending as much time on Mars as you have.” She comments, while pulling off her current gauntlets in favor of her newer, shiner ones. She flexes her fingers inside the grips, a satisfied look on her face.

 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve engaged Cabal in more than just _battle_ on a few occasions.”  The android continues, her eyelights flashing mischievously in your direction. You shake your head in amused disappointment at the suggestion, and choose a neutral response to deflect with.

 

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re a titan!”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You challenge, raising an eyebrow.

“It means, I’m not taking this conversation any further. Why haven’t you tried on your loot yet?” The Hunter diverts, still with a pleased expression plastered over her plasticine face, the smartass.

Taking up your helmet first, you find it fits your head snugly, despite it being made by an alien species. The matching boots, grips, chestpiece, and even the mark are similarly form-fitting; forcing you to give pause for thought. You decide to address your company regarding this discovery.

 

“Hey, is it just me, or does this armor fit a little… _too_ well?” You question out loud.

“It’s not just you. This cuirass is even fitted to my chest size. Of _all things.”_ Comes a mildly troubled-sounding answer, and it’s true. Since fitting the part over her arms, she hadn’t needed to adjust a single buckle. And neither have you, for that matter.

 

“How in the hell did the Emperor of the Cabal manage to get our measurements?” You press.

“Please, for the love of Light, that is not something I want to think about ever again.” Your friend presses back. But you’re too interested in the possible implications to relent. “Do you think he has… humans in there, somewhere?”

 

“You’re scaring me.”

 

You laugh at the reaction, but at your core, feel a little uneasy. It was as if this armor was _made_ for you. It would seem there was still quite a bit yet to be learned about the Emperor in his world-eating ship. He _did_ claim to have seen the end of all things, right? Maybe predicting human waist sizes were not that far off from visions of the apocalypse on the telepathic-entity scale.

 

…You put it out of your mind for now.

 

Returning to the pile of items you’d amassed from your team’s troop through the raid lair, you pick out another item to examine, the only weapon you’d been provided with following Calus’s decidedly “not death.” It was a shotgun that glimmered like surface of a lake, decorated lavishly with white and gold markings from stock to barrel, complete with, of course, another description to be read. Your Ghost provides a display, and your eyes take in the words as they appear, a growing wonder taking the place of your initial curiosity.

 

You’d read quite a bit of writing from the dear old Cabal ruler today, and while he tended to recant events and ideas with a certain poetic clarity, this bit truly took the cake. It felt almost… personal, to learn of this powerful alien god-king’s view on humanity, Guardians, and much to your surprise your own _fireteam,_ here within the confines of your own ship as it orbited the Leviathan. Intrigued by these revelations, you elect to read them out loud to your companion as she sorts through her own collection of treasures, conveniently closeby. Perhaps she would see these confessions differently.

“Hey, listen to this one. Another note from the big guy.” You prompt.

 

“Oh?”

 

“‘I have come to admire how you rally against the impossible. It's not your continual success that amuses me-- your Light assures victory-- it's your refusal to kneel. You fight and you die without a second thought. For what? Personal glory? Wealth? The wretched denizens of your refugee city?’”

 

“Hey now, we may not be the prettiest of the two-legged, spacefaring monstrosities that populate this galaxy, but I’d hardly call us _ratchet_.” Your audience interjects, at the pause.

“I think he’s referring to our state of wealth, friend.” You inform, in turn.

 

“Oh. He would, wouldn’t he? Filthy rich space rhinocerus…”

 

You wave in their direction to regain their attention before you speak again. “Hush, there’s more. ‘You have made bitter foes of races older, nobler, and worthier than you. You struggle so vainly and valiantly when you have so little. When you _are_ so little. Everything this universe has thrown against you and still you persist. I could finish you. And you would not be at my side at the dimming of the world. You, the Guardian of Guardians. If I wished it, you would die your final death. But I won't. Why? B-’”

 

You verbally grind to a halt before reading the final sentence, stunned into speechlessness, and _sure_ that you weren’t actually seeing the words that you were seeing at the bottom of the inscription before you. You blink a few times and move in closer, squinting in attempt to reconfirm, while the Hunter exo adjacent to you complains over your sudden pause.   
_Bad scan? Not a chance…_

 _Nope, it has to be real._   


A look of utter disposal drains your features of its previous amicable neutrality, and the only other occupant of the spacecraft, overcome by curiosity, moves in to investigate.

 

 _“Because I’m in_ **_LOVE?!?”_ **

 

She hollers, looking between you and the weapon in disbelief. You yourself can do little else other than blush, and _furiously_ at that, then glance over to your friend with astonishment in your eyes. However, this does little to deter her from continuing to emote, and loudly.

 

“Emperor Calus. Emperor Calus of the Cabal Calus, _is in love. With_ **_YOU?!”_ **

 

“I don’t know how to feel about this.” You mutter, sight shifting to stare wide-eyed and nondescript at the wall of your ship’s fuselage beyond the item in your hand.

 

 _“He’s_ **_in love_ ** _with you.”_ She shoots back.

“Yes, I know. Please stop saying-”

**_“IN LOVE.”_ **

 

“Yes, I get it! Thank you!”

You cry out, exasperated, and return to your senses long enough to close the inscription, then toss the gun aside. All of this, was utterly unexpected. Unanticipated, unprecedented, un- _everything_. Dispelling a heavy sigh, you turn on heel, and stride to the helm of your ship.

 

“Let’s just get home. I need a drink, and a long-ass bath.” You project, settling into the cockpit.

“Thank the Traveler we’re not coming back here any time soon.” The voice of your passenger reassures, as she clears room for a seat, anticipating the upcoming flight.

 

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Cheers, then.”

“Cheers.”

 


	2. The Post-Post-Raid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the nice comments on the last chapter, I feel so alive !!!  
> I hope you all like this one, too! I'm trying to take it a little slower, since I think that's what it needs. See you in the next update ! ✌️

****As per the Commander’s orders, you and your six-man fireteam were required to report to the Vanguard personally regarding your mission aboard the Leviathan. And taking into account all that you and your group had experienced during that time, anything less would do the grand escapade little justice. So here you are, two warlocks, two hunters, and two titans; before your respective Vanguards as you stand gathered inside the Tower, post-mission. Your fireteam leader had already gone over the logistics of the outing with the outfitters, and provided them with solid references and intel as she always did with these sort of things, warlock as she is. _Always thinking of everything._

 

Your hunter compatriot is currently detailing out her examination of the raid haul to the three leaders, who handle the weapons and armor carefully, trying not to tamper with them too much before the local cryptarchs have a chance to examine them. This doesn’t stop a hand cannon from making its way into Cayde’s vacated holster, or at least until Ikora takes notice, and administers a reprimanding slap to the hand holding it.

 

With some reluctant faces and gestures, your fireteam entrusts the remainder of their loot to the safe hands of the Vanguard, but none of their disappoint quite matches your apprehension (and slight embarrassment), at presenting the shotgun you’d received, nerves drawn taut under your collected pose and features. This wasn't a topic you'd wanted to touch in debrief… but keeping information like this from the Vanguard? _Unthinkable._

 

You may have your doubts, but you're a Titan to your core, and you have a duty to fulfill… even if that duty involves informing the highest ranking Guardians in the City about your new not-so-secret alien admirer. Now, it was just about finding the proper time to do so.

 

“Dismissed.”

 

There, just the words you’d been waiting to hear. Your squad turns on their collective heels and hurries out the door, eager to spend their new downtime wisely, while you attempt to figure out just how you are going to say what you need to say next.

 

Professionalism usually does the trick, so you decide to give it to your superiors straight, like a standard field report. All three pairs of eyes are already on you, whether or not that was to be construed as a blessing, seeing as you hadn’t moved since the permission to was given.

 

“Commander, I'd like to address some additional information regarding this weapon, the ‘Zenith of Your Kind,’ if I may.”

 

“Was there a reason you chose not to mention this during the debrief, Titan?”

 

Zavala speaks, a single impeccable eyebrow raised at you in either concern or confusion. This man could be impossible to read, sometimes.

 

“I withheld on personal grounds. I think you’ll understand why, once you’ve seen this.” You explain, materializing your ghost and offering him towards the firearm in order to decrypt the message encoded within.

 

As soon as the passage appears in holographic light above the table, all three of the Vanguard lean in to investigate, each with varying degrees of professional trepidation contracting their features as they begin to read. Standing there, you observe as their reactions evolve into interest, then confusion, and then…

 

“Unbelievable. I can’t be reading this right.” Ikora voices first, squinting and scanning the note again once, twice, and then a third time. She calls her Ghost, and has them complete a scan as well; halting Zavala’s and Cayde’s reactions in their tracks. Seconds later, the warlock’s ghost confirms the same result:

 

 _“A_ **_love_ ** _letter!_ Well isn’t that just Cabal? A confession, in the form of a _deadly weapon.”_ Cayde exalts, pushing himself off the table to step back and cross his arms, laughter in his voice.

 

“This is… most concerning. While considering the possibility that this emperor may wield a power that rivals and challenges that of the Light, we  _ must _ tread lightly.” Zavala speaks up, abandoning his position over the table to stand up straighter and look you in the eye.

 

Those words, coming from your Commander in a tone you’d learned to recognize in your titan comrade as underlying fear, does nothing to ease your mind. And it was probably due in part to the fact that he  _ wasn’t wrong _ . Considering all that you’d seen aboard that world-eating ship, and even during the final battle with the Cabal  _ alone, _ you now had good reason to believe that whatever Calus really _ is, _ didn’t line up with what everyone standing in this room currently had previously thought.

 

“It’s too soon to say what dangers could become of this. This could mean nothing for all we know, and until this mission data gets an in-depth analysis, we can’t say for sure what kind of threat Calus truly poses.” Ikora interjects, blessedly barring further anxieties.

 

“It could be worse. It could be, you know, a picture of his-”

 _“Cayde._ Enough.” Zavala interrupts, thankfully, then turns his attention to you.

 

“The Vanguard will contact you when we have news to discuss. For the time being, please remain on-call within the City. I have no doubt we will need to speak with you regarding this again, soon.”

 

“Understood.”

You confirm with a firm nod, and turn to head off, grateful that the discussion was over and done with-- and that it had incorporated you and your thoughts on the matter very little.

 

Now that you are outside the Tower and breathing in the fresh evening air, you feel as if you have been awake for _centuries._ And more than anything else right now, you just want to get out of your stinking armor and immerse yourself in a whole lot of hot, aromatic water. A glass of wine doesn’t sound to bad right now, either.

 

\---

 

The water went from clear to a swirling, pale blue as soon as the bath bomb struck its surface, and now looks more inviting than ever. Your foot goes in first, and then the rest of you immediately after, wasting no time to get yourself engulfed in that steamy, bubbly goodness that smells deliciously of… coconut, was it?

 

Your mind goes blank while your shoulders slope up against the walls of the tub, and a free hand reaches out for the glass of wine you’d left by its base. It’s red, and the suggestion of the local liquor store’s cashier, who advertised its “smooth and full-bodied taste” to you when holding out the bottle. You are pleased to find it as enjoyable as advertised after your first sip, and rest it against your lips while foam crackles softly around your ears. Before long, exhaustion begins to take hold of you, gently closing your eyes beneath their lids…

 

They’d only been shut for about a minute, when you are roused from your luxurious dozing to strange sounding whispers, slithering through the steamy air of your bathroom and brushing past your ears-- immediately, you shoot up into a sitting position, bleary eyes scouring the small room for an intruder. There is no one you can see, but your Guardian instincts are in full effect, still detecting a threat.

 

“Ghost?”

 

You call out urgently, and receive no response. He’d been resting right by the sink, where could he have gone? You bring up an arm to lift yourself out of the tub, alarm taking the place of confusion. However, before your fingertips even reach the side of the basin, your eye catches the odd color staining your skin, dripping off of it, running down to your elbow in bulging rivulets all the way to the bath, which is…

 

_Purple?!_

 

Much to your astonishment, the color of the water you are immersed in has somehow transmogrified from its former delicate, powder blue into a deep, rich violet. Seeing this change makes you acutely aware of the sensation it wreaks over your body; thick, heavy, _cold…_ you gasp, galvanized by your realization, and haul yourself from the tub to slop with a wet smack on to the tiles beside it.

 

Here, your lungs take in the hazy air of the world outside the bathtub compressing around your shivering form… it feels even more wretched than the water as it invades your throat, unwilling to leave your body to be exhaled, so heavy and putrid and _intrusive_ . A moment later, the hushed voices return to swarm around your head, and you feel as if you are breathing in every whisper and murmur and allowing them to _smother you,_ **_drown_ ** _you--_

 

Your head erupts from beneath the surface of the tub’s water, accompanied by panicked sputtering noises as your respiratory system reacquaints itself with the concept of air. You grip the sides of the bath with both hands and hoist yourself up to a sitting position, glaring at the water through soggy eyelashes in search of a sinister violet hue, only to find that you’d dumped your wine into the mixture by accident and dyed the whole wash lavender.

 

A few lungfuls of air later, and after a pair of waterlogged coughs, you verify the absence of the strangling vapor as well-- and the presence of your floating companion by the washbasin… who currently not only shows a complete lack of concern, but appears to be laughing _hysterically._

 

“What is so _goddamned_ funny?!” You demand.

“I just watched after you dozed off, and your head slowly sunk into the water, and then… bam!”

 

He tells between fits of giggles, genuinely entertained by your drowsy drowning experience. You splash the soiled water in his direction for good measure, which elicits a series of annoyed chirps from the little wet robot.

 

Now you climb out of the tub, ready for an actual sleep, and towel off before twisting the proper knob to drain the bath water from its container. But, even as you do, you can’t help but feel unsettled by the color-- however pale it might be, now-- as it melts into the small grate below it. That liquid in your dream, it looked both familiar and alien all at once. And those whispers… hadn’t you heard them before, too?

 

_It was just a dream. Barely even one, at that._

 

You reassure yourself, flicking the light switch off as you leave the bathroom, and troop over to your bed, immersing yourself in the collection of bedsheets therein.

 

_There’s nothing dangerous about dreams._


	3. Some R&R

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm changing the tags a bit to match the burn of this fic, which is turning out slower than I thought it would ! Still flying by my ass on this, so I'm going to stop making predictions about the next chapters in my notes. The previous chapter has been tweaked slightly to change the pace and tone of what's going on here, since I can do that, and care enough about this fic to do that.
> 
> This chapter is mostly filler stuff ! Some Guardian headcanons, and a look into your life outside of punching aliens in the face. See you in the next update ! ✌️  
> 

You wake up from what had to have been the deepest sleep you've fallen into in a long time, which you figure is likely a product of your exhaustion post-raid, and the comfort of finally being at home in your own bed again. It’s a welcome feeling to your tired bones, so you lie on the mattress completely encased in the warmth of your blankets a while longer, just enjoying the feeling of home.

 

Your first item on the list for today is breakfast, and since you barely have any food in your fridge due to the fact that you are a _Guardian_ , and essentially _never_ _home_ , you elect to find a place outside to eat. Perhaps some friends from your fireteam would like to come along, as well? A quick check into the squad’s communications channel tells you that one of the Warlocks is available and willing, and reasons _as quoted:_

 

“Someone needs to keep an eye on the titans, to make sure you don't end up breaking a window when you turn left.”

 

That wasn't very fair. It's not like you do it on purpose.

 

Your walk through the city to the diner you’d picked out is short, but invigorating, the early morning air lively, cool, both feeling and smelling of humans waking up and getting started with their days. Little things, like the scent of coffee being served to a line of buyers neatly lined down the sidewalk behind a stand, someone’s burnt toast making itself known with the help of a fan ushering its odor out through an opened kitchen window, and exhaust fumes from vehicles and machinery warming up. Little invisible things that remind you of what time of day you are traversing the City streets, without even opening your eyes.

 

You meet your Warlock teammate just inside the door of the establishment and find seats together, after being provided menus by a distracted-looking hostess. While you wait for your orders to be taken, sunlight smears itself over the greasy pane of the window next to you, making the imperfections of its chosen canvas known; and their shadows speckle the hardwood surface of the table beneath your elbows.

 

You take this time to ask the Guardian opposite you what had caused him to rise so early, already fairly certain of the answer, and sure enough, he had been meditating.

 

“We do it to keep our minds sharp. Relying on quick, creative solutions during battle in the place of mobility and resilience, means I have to have those creative solutions ready to go beforehand, yeah?”

 

“Makes sense.” You echo, not having thought about the process of sitting down quietly, and focusing in on only yourself and your thoughts for extended stretches of time. It’s hard to imagine, being as action-oriented as you are. Or maybe it’s just a Titan thing.

 

“I start to meditate, and those ideas come to me a lot more easily. Kind of like opening all the windows to your house, hoping a bird will fly in.”

 

“And shit all over your vintage record collection?” You mention.

 

“Hey, you leave my records out of this.” He rebukes, while grinning.

 

A portly waitress wearing an excessive amount of makeup arrives with a glass pot of coffee, and offers to fill your mugs, to which you graciously accept. The steaming cup fits neatly between your hands, warming them like a personal space heater while you continue to rib the poor man on his taste in music.

 

“It would be doing you a favor. Traveler knows I’d want to destroy anything made by the Bee Gees after listening to one of their albums.”

 

“You are so, so incredibly wrong right now…”

 

The human starts in, ready to prove to you factually how impactful the sound of disco in the 1970s was on the future of music, but your mind is other places. Namely, the weird sounding voices coming from behind your booth. You are certain no one had been sitting there before or after your arrival to the restaurant, and the familiarity of this situation begins to unnerve you.

 

_ What is causing that noise? It doesn’t even sound human-generated. _

 

A figure passes by your table and you nearly jump, the motion taking one of the whispers right by your ear as it passed. And that  _ sound-- _ It feels like unknown words are being breathed directly into your brain, invading your consciousness while you can do little to stop it, much less ignore it…

 

_ This  _ **_again_ ** _?! Am I still awake? _

 

In attempt to center yourself, your eyes find their way back to your coffee mug, which had gone cold in your hands, somehow, despite it just being pour--

 

_ It's purple. Why is this coffee  _ **_purple?!_ **

 

You stare at the sludgy fluid, which is stirring itself idly inside the cup like some sort of aimless, formless creature with a growing sense of horror and dizziness. You think you hear more whispers, but harsher now, louder, more demanding.  _ They're calling out your  _ **_name--_ **

 

“HEY! Can you hear me? Good god, you look like you've seen a ghost. What the hell happened to you?”

 

Your attention returns to the warlock in the seat opposite you in an instant, brain fumbling its way back to reality again, and the question you'd been asked. 

 

“Uhh… I think there's void energy in my coffee.”

 

You answer dumbly, not really sure how else to describe your experience at the moment. The look on your friend’s face is appropriately dead-eyed and unbelieving, and you think you might deserve this reaction.

 

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you haven't been sleeping enough. Now I'm not sure you've been  _ eating _ enough.”

 

He diagnoses, sounding genuinely displeased. Well, that wasn't true. But this man is a Warlock; and if anyone can figure out what had just happened, it’s him. You decide to try describing yesterday’s similar and shocking experience to him, to see if he can find a connection. If nothing else, it would make for interesting conversation.

 

“I’ve been getting enough of both, actually. Which makes the fact that this happened last night too, all the more strange.” You preface, leaning back politely from the tabletop as your meals are slid in front of you, a small thanks from the both of you seeing off your server.

 

“What, void coffee?”

“No, void  _ bath.” _

 

The robed Guardian finishes his bite and sits up a bit straighter, visibly putting himself in the analytical mindset. His eyes meet yours under knitted brows. “Explain?”

 

You take a few more bites of your breakfast, thinking, then set down your fork. “I fell asleep in the tub, and dreamt that the water turned purple. I heard voices, and everything. Very spooky.”

 

You report, in a bullet-list fashion. Your company seems to think over this a bit, until he waves his hand dismissively at you, returning to his food. “Guardians have been known to dream about odd things involving their Light energy, especially void subclasses. It's part of the job.”

 

You nod, but don't feel satisfied with this answer. It may have seemed…  _ void-like _ … but there was nothing definitively Light-bearing about that substance. If anything, it felt like it was sucking the power from your body,  _ consuming it…  _

 

“If this is a new thing for you, maybe take out the shield a little more often, or maybe a little less? Hell if I know. These issues usually have a way of solving themselves.” He comforts in his own way, and you accept it.

 

The two of you continue to chat about the usual things; Guardian affairs, teammate antics, The Crucible and onwards as the diner bustles around you, lively with its usual array of morning activities. A busser taps their fingernails on a countertop while they wait for a coffee pot to finish filling. A washer brings a rack of clean dishes, still steaming, from the kitchen to the stocking area.

 

A pair of waitresses gossip by an empty high-top, until a third walks by and accidentally trips on her way back to the kitchen. Stack of plates fly from her hands, shattering across the linoleum floor in a destructive percussion solo that puts conversation in the building on pause for a solid handful of seconds. The two gossipers rush over, voices fretful, and one raises her head to shout towards the kitchen window.

 

“Can we get a maintenance frame in here?”

 

You and your friend watch with sympathetic faces as they clean up the mess, even as the activity in the establishment returns to equilibrium. It causes you both to make the decision to wrap up your morning outing, with the mage speaking up about it first.

 

“Well, I'm done here. The wife wants me at home with her while I'm still in town, and unfortunately, I’m in love with her.”

 

He bemoans with false disappointment, signing off on his half of the check, and sliding it over your way. You chuckle lowly, adding your own signature to the bill, and push it to the side of the table for pickup, taking notice of the ring on his finger.

 

It’s a rubber ring taking the place of the usual golden band, marking his dedication. How fortunate he is, to find lasting love as a Guardian; a group of people so unchanged by the passage of time that all other things that live simply pass them by.

 

It’s a fate that inextricably draws Guardians in to each other’s comforting arms, but even in living as long as you have, you find that love with no definitive end to it changes the way in which an individual loves to  _ begin _ with. It makes it easier to understand why some of your kind might envy the way mortal folk love each other, knowing death would one day do them part.

 

You briefly wonder how your Warlock friend has come to terms with the fact that he will live on, long after his wife has passed.

 

…Maybe you shouldn’t be breaking your own heart like this so early in the morning.

 

Each of you stand to depart, the broken mess on the floor from earlier reduced to just a few shards of porcelain scattered about, which even now are being quickly ushered into a dustpan by the broom of a twitchy-looking sweeper bot. It putters away quietly with restrained movements, probably trying not to upset its aching servos further as it sweeps, focusing on its task as you pass it on your way to the door.

 

Out on the streets, you turn back to head home, passing by the diner’s front window on your way. And then, just for a moment, your eye catches something behind that pane that could have been a trick of the light, or just a simple reflection, rationally-- and yet, you could have sworn from somewhere in that diner a glowing, red eye had been watching as you passed out of sight.


	4. The Game Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your Vanguard have news regarding your recent encounter with the self-proclaimed Cabal Emperor. And since when did you become such an avid daydreamer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry It's been so long, as usual, sometimes it just be like that. I need time between chapters to think about the story's direction, which I don't have much time to do between school and work. Please be patient with me, I'm not known to give up on a story until I've seen it through. :)

Before you lies an emptiness. Where there should have been a room extends an open plane disguised as a room, with floor tiles lined up neatly from the wall on either side of where you stand, repeating in all directions further than your eye could see. This was supposed to be the door to your hallway, but now, you weren’t sure  _ what  _ you were seeing-- or if you were even truly seeing it at all. The dissociation it was rendering through your reality was already starting to make your brain vibrate inside your skull.

 

Then, in a moment of strangely inspired location association, you reach out to feel around the wall outside your doorway for a lightswitch, and turn out the lights. You leave them out for a spell, staring out past the shadowed threshold.

 

_ One… two… three… four. _

 

You flick the lights back on, and the rest of your apartment is back exactly where it’s supposed to be, as if it hadn’t just torn a hole through time and space to situate itself back in your home. You blink a few times, feeling no relief as your mind begins rationalizing the scenario out of existence, the thought that you might just be seeing afterimages of your dream crossing through the realm of possibility, before you put the occurrence out of your mind completely.

 

There were other, more important things to think about right now. For instance, your Vanguard summons, in the form of a voicemail from Cayde-6 ringing out from your Ghost’s speakers bright and early that morning:

 

“Guardian! It’s me, your pal Cayde. How about swinging by in 0100 to pay the three of us a visit? We’ve got a lot to talk about. Oh! And pick me up a coffee on your way over? I’ll pay you back!”

 

Two seconds pause, and your Ghost chimed with another message.

 

“Iced mocha with two sugars and two milks! Large.”

 

Of course he would never pay you back, but you don’'t care. His gratitude usually made odd requests like these worthwhile. 

 

Trudging onward into your kitchenette, your Ghost activates the lights overhead, which gradually shine through their bleary wakeup calls over the few minutes it takes for you to prepare a breakfast and steaming mug of coffee. After that, it’s simply a matter of slipping back into your armor and transmatting your way to the coffee shop to fill Cayde’s order, before you transmat over to the Tower later.

 

Despite their ultimate identity as members of the human race, Guardians are elusive creatures to the remainder of mankind they swear to protect-- making coffee runs like this one analogous to a circus riding into town instead of a simple errand. As soon as the door opens, eyes zero in on you with laser focus. Not meeting any of them, you angle yourself through sideways in order to get your shoulder pauldrons past the entrance, and thereafter try to make yourself seem as unassuming and non-threatening as possible. Traveler knows what situations intimidating already skeptical bystanders could create. Nonetheless, the  barista you approach fills your order-- albeit with a dumbfounded look on her face, failing to process meeting a Guardian face-to-face for what was likely, you assumed, the first time.

 

A minute passes, lined with murmurs out of your earshot and quick, furtive looks, after which Cayde’s coffee is slid towards you across the counter, which you let it come to rest in your opened grasp. But the barista doesn’t leave. Sensing that she has something to say, you meet her eyes, and she squirms nervously, having gotten your attention, while not sure what to do with it.

 

“What’s it like?” She speaks quickly, steeling her confidence to look you in the eyes.

“What’s what like?” You respond evenly. 

 

_ This could mean any number of things…  _

 

“You know…” She fidgets some more. “Dying…?” The end of her question takes an unnatural pitch, as if she was realizing that it might not have been appropriate to ask a customer, much less a Guardian.

 

You stand up a bit straighter, taking the drink off the counter, allowing a second before responding. That was brave of her to ask. However, it’s not like you hadn’t heard this same question asked many other times before. As always, you have an answer prepared. “It’s like sneezing, really, really hard.”

 

She blinks and all tension exits her face in place of surprise. You allow yourself a small smile, amused. “It happens suddenly, and there’s a split second where you feel nothing. Then, you’re back in it, head spinning, dizzy and unbalanced.”

 

“Ah… wow.” She expresses, her shock still held in her face. “That’s… surprisingly… unsurprising.” she surmises, grasping at adjectives. Your smile grows, charmed by the young woman’s descriptive.

 

“Try not to think about it to hard, kiddo. It happens when it happens.” You summarize, and materialize your Ghost, transmatting out of the shop right before her eyes. 

 

\---

 

“Hey, there you are! I’ve been thinking about you all morning.” 

Cayde-6 exclaims, amber eyes focused on the iced coffee in your hand as you stroll into the meeting room, holding it aloft. He rushes forward, closing his gloved hands around the cool, perspiring beverage, admiring the languid, swirling motions of its liquids as they writhe around the bottom of the cup. 

 

“You’re even more beautiful than I’d ever imagined.” He breathes, holding it up to his face, eyelights bright. “IOU. Twenty glimmer.” Cayde promises, addressing you for the first time since you entered the room, glancing back at you with a coy and somewhat guilty expression.

 

“Deal.” You confirm in a chipper voice, popping a finger gun, and a knowing half-smile.

 

“Guardian.” Zavala calls from the table at the center of the room, needing to get on with the encounter and dispose with as much of Cayde’s side-shenanigans as possible. “We have news for you. Considering that what you hear here today has… delicate implications, everything we are about to discuss is to be considered confidential.” He prefaces as you approach, naturally taking up the only unoccupied edge of the table’s squarish perimeter.

 

“Yes sir.” You answer sincerely, adopting a more professional stance, getting serious.

 

First, Zavala glances at Ikora. Ikora meets Zavala’s gaze, and holds it for a solid second. Cayde looks up from his drink towards Ikora, and she nods at him, causing him to release a held breath. You look around each of your superiors, confused and concerned, and almost certain you were not going to like what you were about to hear. Ikora was the first to speak.

 

“After reviewing the data we’ve gathered over the course of your excursion aboard the Leviathan, the items you and your team have received, and intelligence retrieved from other fireteams, we’ve determined that Calus’s interest in you, personally, is… a concept worthy of consideration.” She details calmly, studying your face over the course of her last few words, waiting for the first hint of a reaction.

 

Immediately, confusion sets in. Uncomfortable, suspicious confusion.  _ Concept worthy of consideration? Consideration of what? _

 

“The Red Legion continue to plague our system, a problem that this… alleged “Emperor” has made his personal duty to attend to, a duty that also happens to align itself with our interests. Although I have my reservations, I cannot ignore the possibility of an alliance against a dangerous foe.  _ We _ cannot.” Zavala clarifies, sensing your unease.

 

Inside your head, pieces of the puzzle were beginning to click into place. “You believe that Calus would consider providing aid, due to his interest in Guardian-kind?”

 

“Not just Guardians, his interest in  _ you _ , hot stuff. If there’s ever going to be a possibility of brokering an agreement, you’re our best bet. Our ace-in-the-hole.” Cayde likens, taking a pull from the straw in his drink, the earthy brown coffee and the syrup gyrating together into a thick slurry of deep violet sludge.

 

_ Wait... _

**_Violet?!_ **

 

You freeze in place, time slowing around you as you watch the viscous fluid flow around the cup, light catching particles in its mix and causing them to glimmer like jewels in the dim light. Transfixed, you can feel and hear your heart beating against your chest, blood rushes in your ears as the glassy, almost gooey liquid begins to seep out from under the lid of the cup, slipping and sliding down between Cayde’s fingers, and streaming down his hand as slowly and and sluggishly as molasses. A single droplet begins to form on his elbow, glistening a trail down his arm, and growing each second like a ripe fruit ready to be plucked. It continues to gather, pregnant with the purple slick, pulling further and further away from his arm. Pulling, pulling,  _ pulling…  _

 

**_Drop._ **

 

“Guardian!” Ikora’s voice rings out over your daze, and you stand bolt upright, scared to attention. “Ma’am!” You shout back, full of shame. 

 

“What is so immensely interesting about Cayde’s elbow?” She drills, tone demanding. Before you meet her eyes, you glance back at the place that the drop had previously been accumulating, only to find it-- as well as the now mostly empty coffee cup-- devoid of the unusual slime.

 

You mouth opens and closes wordlessly, face wrought with confusion; sure of what you had witnessed while equally perturbed at its sudden disappearance. “ _ Guardian _ .” She presses in a sinister voice, galvanizing you into answering nonetheless.

 

“There was purple!” You blurt out. Immediately, you slam your eyes shut, grimacing at how stupid that just sounded. The palpable pause afterward was even more punishing.

 

“... Purple.” Ikora finalizes, and you bite your lip, processing the nigh parental levels of judgement coming through her tone at that moment.

 

“It looked like… Cayde’s coffee turned purple, for a few seconds.” You try to explain, as if more words would have any hope of saving your pride now. “It leaked out and dripped down his arm, I--”   
  
“Enough, I don’t have the time or patience to deliberate over daydreams.” Zavala interrupts, hands coming to rest on the table before him, his arms extending between himself and the surface like armored pillars. “Guardian, pay attention. This  _ directly _ involves you.” He scolds, pinning you with steely gray eyes. You nod quickly, a knot of guilt forming in your stomach.

 

However, Ikora continues to stare at you, though her gaze has since tempered into a more studious scrutiny; only tightening the feeling already in your stomach.

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Good.” He returns to the subject at hand. “The Vanguard has reached out to Calus and his Loyalists offering Guardian assistance in his campaign against the Red Legion, and provided negotiations go favorably, I want you leading the first fireteam. Understood?”   
  
“Yes sir.”

 

“The items you returned with from the Leviathan have been transferred to your vault in the condition you received them, for whatever use you have planned for them. Stay within the City on standby for further orders and instructions, you will be notified regarding the status of the negotiation whenever relevant. Understood?”   
  
“Yes sir.”

 

“Try to get to bed earlier tonight, Guardian. Dismissed.”  Zavala finishes, already moving to leave the table.

 

You salute your Commander, then summon your Ghost to transmat back to your apartment, ready to be distant from the embarrassment you’d suffered today. Until the very moment your vision fades to white, you are keenly aware of Ikora’s eyes on you, full of curiosity and concern.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you liked it, and/or want to see more! If I don't know, then I don't post, and end up keeping all this tasty stuff to myself. I try to answer every comment I get, but I might miss some! Regardless, my endless love to all of you who have taken time out of your days to read this story, and even more to those who've enjoyed it.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [Aurelious-auria!](http://aurelious-auria.tumblr.com/)  
> Keep updated on this fic and posts related to it through [this tag.](http://aurelious-auria.tumblr.com/tagged/HWOS-the-fic)  
> I have more reader inserts to share with the community, so keep your eyes peeled for those as well. Peace and Blessings! ✌️


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